


Birth

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Christmas Prompts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A- Z Christmas Prompt, Friendship, John Watson is a Good Doctor, John is a Saint, London Underground, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is overwhelmed, labour and birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: “Would you be alright if you were in labour on a sweltering tube train?” Sherlock murmured lowly, eyes still on her, eyes that widened a few moments later as the girl shifted and flinched, looking down in growing alarm. She looked absolutely petrified, beginning to shake and quietly sob as she checked her phone, and John was already getting to his feet before Sherlock spoke again. “Her waters just broke--”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Christmas Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559605
Comments: 14
Kudos: 224





	Birth

John wiped at the sweat on his brow with the sleeve of his coat. Despite it being December the temperature under London on the packed tube was stifling and with a jumper, vest and coat on John was starting to feel the heat. He didn't seem to be alone as he looked around at the wilting tourists who fanned themselves with various brochures for local attractions, talking in hushed tones as they travelled quickly through the tunnels. 

Sherlock sat in silence beside him, obviously enjoying his people watching/deduction time but something obviously caught his eye as he nudged John and nodded towards a young woman who looked far more feverish than everyone else. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, wrapped up warm with clothes which stretched across her massively pregnant belly. John watched as she grimaced, biting her lip and then looked out of the pitch black window in slight anxiety.

“Do you think she's alright?” John asked Sherlock, “Should I go over?”

“Would you be alright if you were in labour on a sweltering tube train?” Sherlock murmured lowly, eyes still on her, eyes that widened a few moments later as the girl shifted and flinched, looking down in growing alarm. She looked absolutely petrified, beginning to shake and quietly sob as she checked her phone, and John was already getting to his feet before Sherlock spoke again. “Her waters just broke--”

John reached her side within five paces and bent down so he was eye-level with the terrified woman, giving her his best calm doctor smile, “Hi. I'm a Doctor. My name is John...” he said with a soft smile. “Is everything okay?”

“I… I’m in _labour_ ,” she whispered quietly, eyes filling with tears as she fumbled some more with her phone, typing out a shaky message to someone. “I… I’m… I’m going to the hospital but… but I… think my waters just broke?— _Oh God_. I shouldn’t be here!”

“It's alright,” John soothed. “Myself and my friend Sherlock will stay here with you until the tube gets to the next stop. Once those doors open you'll get a phone signal and we can ring for an ambulance and get you to the hospital. What's your name?”

“Amelia,” she replied with a sniff, grimacing again, clenching her teeth and rocking in immense discomfort. “ _Oh God_ … I tried to go before, but… but the _traffic_ and my mum is… she’s… and I…” Her stammering and weeping was starting to attract attention, causing people to frown, tut, and even shoot her annoyed glances. John did his best to meet each and every one of them with a dark, stern, challenging glare, happy when it succeeded in forcing them away. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve read the books but… it’s not working out as I wanted. I planned it… I have— _Oh shit_! I left my… my bag!”

“Okay Amelia, listen to me?” John said quite firmly, though still kindly, not wanting to scare her but instead force her to focus and calm down, “It's probably going to be ages before you go into full labour, so this bit is going to be a bit uncomfortable and a little bit tense, but once we're out of the tunnel we're going to get you sorted, okay?” He smiled again, trying to keep things casual and clinical and delicate. “Plus, you can think of me as your personal doctor for now. You can be posh.”

She returned the smile, somewhat weakly, and let out a breathless laugh, “Posh? While being on the tube?” she asked, gripping her phone tightly and glancing at the time. “My… my contractions are… they’re… they’re…” She took a moment to breath through some pain, to grit her teeth, to try not to make a sound, to rock and shift, and then let out a sob. “They’re _frequent_. I’m… I’m scared.”

“I know,” John answered, reaching for her hand and letting her grip it tightly, “We'll be off here in no time… you just breathe through each contraction okay… deep breath in through the nose, out through the mou—”

“Ladies and Gentlemen we're sorry to inform you that due to a broken down tube, we will be forced to hold in the tunnel until an engineer arrives.” A voice from the PA system rocked through the carriage, quietening everyone. “We are sorry for any inconvenience caused.”

John grit his teeth, glaring skyward at the irony, at their shit luck, and looked over at where Sherlock was standing a few steps behind, gesturing for him to come over just as Amelia began to sob loudly in obvious terror, “I need you to go and find someone, anyone—No! The _driver_ , get to the driver and explain the situation,” John said as steadily as he could manage, while leaping into action and organising the area. “We need them to contact the main office and tell them to call an ambulance. We'll need to get these people out of here and into the other carriages. And We need water and towels. - Can you do that?”

Sherlock blinked at him, staring long enough for John to irritably smack his cheek, and then swallowed thickly, “Yes,” he answered after a sharp breath. “Yes, I can… do that. - Though I very much doubt there are towels on here.” He stepped away at John’s pursed mouth and heated glare, pushing his way through into the other carriages without another word, his tall frame and deep voice making quick work of dispersing those in his way.

“I _can’t_ have the baby here! It’s _filthy_!” Amelia exclaimed, beginning to hyperventilate. “No, please, I… I can’t!”

“I know, I know...” John tried to talk placidly with his heart was racing and climbing up his throat, “I know it's not ideal… this isn't anyone's idea of a perfect birth, but we don't have much choice in the matter. We're stuck until someone can get the other tube moving. We just need to keep you steady until we can get to the ambulance, okay? - Now, I'll need to know a few questions so I know how to treat you…” John pressed Amelia for answers to his most professional questions. She was almost nine months pregnant, wasn't suffering from any medical conditions and had already lost her mucus plug earlier in the day, which was why she was going to see her doctor. John nodded along and made several mental notes before he looked at her sympathetically. “Okay… Now… I won't know for sure how far dilated you are until... well… until I check. But I'm not going to do that until Sherlock is back and we have a bit of privacy...”

“Is… is that _really_ his name?” she asked with a short laugh, trembling and digging her fingers into John’s hand with increasing anxiety. “I… I’ve… never heard of… such a name before.”

“I hadn't either when I first knew it, I thought it was the strangest name I'd ever heard – and then I met his brother _Mycroft_ ,” John laughed, “Sherlock helps the police solve crimes… he's a genius. Like… a _proper_ genius, Einstein type intelligence.”

Amelia frowned at him in disbelief and glanced briefly in the direction Sherlock had gone, remaining silent for several long moments, then rocking, shaking, and crying out in pain, before she leaned back, gasping, “And… and how did you… did you meet him?”

“I was shot when I was in the Army,” John explained as he gestured with his free hand to Amelia's abdomen, silently asking permission to put his hand on there to monitor the angle of the baby and the strength of each tightening contraction. Amelia nodded and John continued their conversation as he placed his hand over her shirt. “I couldn't serve any more, so I came back home and just happened to be talking to an old friend about needing a flatmate. He introduced me to Sherlock and we moved in pretty much that weekend. - Now I do my doctor stuff through the day and help him with cases on a night.”

“So… so you’re like a… real life superhero,” she panted and gave him another weak smile, sweat glistening on her brow, her temples, her top lip, and the line of her throat. “London’s very own… Batman and Robin, but… without the… the depressing backstory. And bats.”

“He did release a bat once… sadly it was in our _kitchen_. I had to sweep it off the ceiling with a broom and throw the washing basket over it,” John chuckled, moving his hand to check the pulse at her wrist. It was racing but not worryingly so. He looked around and noticed that a few people had started to openly stare, wondering what the fuss was, though mostly they were ignored by the usual Londoners, who continued to read or listen to their music. “What do you do?” 

“Student,” she told him, wiping tears from her face with a quivering, breathy giggle, “well, part time student. _Obviously_ … Photography. I… I’ve wanted to be… to be a photographer for a while.”

“Oh brilliant! That sounds like a lot of fun,” John said, focusing when the next contraction hit and counting to track it. “If it's portraits you should come shoot us. Sherlock and I would welcome you into the flat to take our picture. Just hope you're good at photoshop to get rid of the mess in the room.” 

It took several more minutes of disjointed idle chatter and intensifying labour pain before Sherlock finally arrived, arms full of several towels and three bottles of water, and followed closely by a group of people, who were ushering others away and coming in to try and empty the space around them. They looked at Amelia, yet only fleetingly, seeming to become more determined to succeed in their task at the sight of her, encouraged to create a wall around John and her to shoo and order and guide people away. John hoped a fight wouldn’t break out. Knew how tempers could raise on the tube. Knew how difficult it would be to push crowded people into another even crowded carriage without someone, somewhere, causing a stink about it.

As Amelia breathed and sobbed and trembled in the wake of pain, Sherlock crouched down and held out one of the bottles, “Here,” he said, looking her over when she greedily swallowed half the contents. “Is… everything… proceeding well?”

“I won't know until I examine her...” John murmured, trailing off and looking down at the grimy floor of the tube, knowing there would need to be a sacrifice of coats if they were going to lie her down on it. His probably. Extending his hand, he gestured and then delved into Sherlock's pockets, ignoring his indignant outcry to grab for the hidden crumpled box of 'borrowed' latex gloves, yanking a pair free with a flapping flutter. “Okay Amelia, this is going to be a bit awkward. I need to get you onto the floor. We'll put my coat down for you, keep you away from the dirt, and I'm going to need to examine you… I have to check how dilated you are...”

“ _Oh God_ …” she wailed through her nod, peering through her tears at them both, a towel from Sherlock placed under her backside when she was lowered down and another draped over her raised knees for privacy once she’d been helped out of her shoes and trousers. “Wh-what will happen if I’m… I’m not… not dilated enough?”

John hesitated to answer, knowing that honesty was the best way forward, however unsure how any information he gave would effect her, “Then we will make you as comfortable as we can for the remainder of your contractions. I only ask that you tell me if you have the urge to push – Everything seems to be fine so far and I don't see any excess blood on your trousers, so that's good.” John turned his head to catch Sherlock's eyes, slightly annoyed that the man was openly gawking at the woman with an uneasy and uncertain expression to his face, frustratingly readable and out of his depth at the worst possible time. “Can you hold Amelia's hand for me whilst I do this? Be brave and let her squeeze as tight as she pleases.” 

Sherlock huffed, reeled out from his stupor, and took off his scarf to fold up and slide under her head, letting her take his hand in an iron grip, “Do you know how to check the dilation?” he asked quietly, low enough so that a heavily breathing Amelia couldn’t hear. “You’re a doctor, but you’ve never delivered a baby before? Theoretically, you know what you're looking for, feeling for, however in practice, it's an entirely different matter. It's not every day that you stick your fingers all the way up to a woman's cervix. - _Have_ you done this before? Do you know what you’re meant to feel there? Know what should be happening? Know how to tell if she is ready to bear down or not?—What if the baby is breach? What if the cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck? What then? I… I don’t know how to do CPR on a baby. Do you? _Have you_?--”

“ _Sherlock_!” John whispered in a hiss, giving his best shut-the-fuck-up-stare. “Take a deep breath and calm the _fuck_ down. We don't need you panicking and scaring her even more than she is already, okay?” John pushed back his own fringe with his wrist, which was beginning to stick to him with sweat, and took a long, deep inhale. “At one time I did a round on maternity and paediatrics. I've seen babies delivered and I've checked a cervix, just… not for a while. So let's just – keep her calm until the ambulance arrives, yeah?”

“It’s going to be a while. You know that as much as I do,” Sherlock said, leaning close enough that their noses brushed and one wild curl tickled across John’s brow. “I’m _not_ trying to scare her, nor you, but… birth isn't simple. More so outside of a hospital. _Especially_ in a tube train!”

“ _I know that_!” John growled, looking at an inspecting Amelia and giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, nudging Sherlock back with his elbow. “This isn't an ideal situation, however it's one we _have_ to deal with...” Shimming into a better position between her feet, he sighed, letting his glove covered hands touch gently at her knees. “Okay, so… this is a _bit_ weird, I know, but I'm going to need to examine you. Is that okay?”

“I can’t very well say… say no, can I?” Amelia replied with a choking chuckle, screwing her eyes shut and tightening her hold on Sherlock’s hand, tight enough to prompt him to wince and cover her white, tensing knuckles with patting fingers. “‘M sorry…”

Keeping his smile in check, John took another deep breath and moved his hands forward, using the technique he'd once been shown by various midwives. There was a bit of shifting, a little bit of a gasp from Amelia, a grinding of teeth, and then John was finally in the correct place, measuring the dilation of the cervix as best he could. “Right… okay… _wow_ ,” John muttered, eyes meeting Amelia's. “So, it seems your baby is in a rush to meet you. You're about 6 centimetres dilated… perhaps closer to seven. That's _really_ far along. - Good job managing that pain. You must have a very high pain threshold.”

“What does that mean?” Sherlock and Amelia said in unison, glancing at each other before Amelia swallowed thickly, lifting her eyebrows and shifting. “Is… is that good? That’s good, isn't it? It's good that— _Wait_ , no, that’s… that’s _bad_! I don’t… _I don’t want to have the baby here_!”

“Yes, yes, I know. We might not have a choice, though,” John reiterated, “We're going to do _everything_ we can to make sure you get to hospital, though judging by how quickly you've dilated, I don't think it's going to take too long.” He carefully sat back and looked between Amelia and Sherlock. “You might want to take a few more sips of water, as you're sweating quite a lot and I don't want you to become dehydrated when it's time to push.”

“I’m… I’m hot,” Amelia said, leaning her head back and licking her pale lips, her eyes frantically flitting along the ceiling of the carriage. “I hate it… _I hate it here_.” Grasping another one of the bottles, she let Sherlock’s hand go to take several long gulps of water, shooting a grateful smile to Sherlock when he took that moment to pick up a crumpled newspaper from the floor and use as a fan, all the while shaking out his reddened hand. “Thanks…”

“Yeah, it's not too pleasant down here – is it?” John laughed sympathetically, taking off his jumper and rolling up his long sleeved shirt. The jumper joined Sherlock's scarf as a makeshift pillow for Amelia's head. “Hopefully they'll get this bloody thing moving sooner rather than later...”

“Should she really be on her back for this?” Sherlock asked John after a very painful and strong contraction, his hand very quickly ensnared in a vice-like grip once more, crumpling his long fingers together and, from the looks of it, cutting off circulation. He winced again and tried to pull her off, tried to re-position his hand in hers, tried to have her hold his wrist instead, but she shook her head, panting, whimpering, and crying. The makeshift fan was flapped harder in response. "If she were in a adjustable hospital bed, perhaps it would be better, yet she is not..." 

“It would probably be better on her knees, yes, but we don't have anything to protect her knees… unless—Okay, let's fold those towels for her to kneel on,” John said, quickly getting to work and positioning them as best he could, reaching for Amelia's sweaty armpit to heave her back up. “Okay Amelia, now we need you to get up to your knees. You can lean on Sherlock for support and we'll adjust you in the best way. Can you do that?”

She quickly took a few more thirsty sips of water and nodded, grabbing for them both, most of her weight shifting to Sherlock, who took it without compliant, “I feel a bit… dizzy and… sick,” she warned them, swaying into Sherlock’s chest once she had fumbled to her knees, thighs quivering. “God… I wish my mum was here…” 

“The dizziness and sickness are normal, you're burning up and your body is going through a lot of changes right now,” John soothed, “unfortunately you might indeed be sick. It's alright if you do. Just let us know. I'd be sick too if I were in your shoes. I've heard its a tad painful...”

“Do _not_ vomit on me,” Sherlock told her, a serious expression on his face, so serious in fact that Amelia burst out laughing as she slumped against him, her hands fisting into his coat. 

“He's all heart, isn't he?” John mocked.

Time passed with a series of painful grunts and cries, whilst John and Sherlock did what they could to keep Amelia calm and out of too much agony. Sherlock had found a couple of paracetamol in one of his other pockets for her, not that John expected paracetamol to really help the poor girl that much. Although Amelia seemed to calm down a little bit after taking them so, perhaps, he thought, it was mostly wishful thinking.

“I'll have to check again and see how we're progressing,” John announced after one big rippling, agonising contraction had passed. “The contractions aren't far apart now so I _think_ we're getting close...”

“They’re every three minutes, lasting around a minute each time,” Sherlock uttered as he checked Amelia’s temperature and fanned at her more vigorously, eyeing her in concern as she swayed, rocked, and dropped her head forward, her eyes closed and mouth open in pained breathing. "Do not faint. That would be bad."

“It's... it's not that. I feel… I feel like I need…” she slurred, hands locking into position, wound tight on the collar of Sherlock’s coat. “ _Oh God_ … I think I might want to… to push…” 

“ _Wait_ … Wait...” John said quickly as he slipped his fingers back inside, checking her cervix once more and gasping, nodding, blinking, “Bloody hell, yeah. I can feel the head. Right… okay… _right_...” Scampering back a little, John altered his positioned into an angle to look, to watch, stunned at how brave and stoic women were at undergoing such a massive change. “On your next contraction I need you to push down, right into your bum, chin onto your chest.” 

“I… I don’t know if I can,” she whined, head flopping back limply when Sherlock scrambled to take a better hold of her, securing a comfortable grasp of her arms. Amelia shuddered with a grimace and a groan, shaking her head and weeping. “I’m… I’m so _tired_ … I can’t… I can’t… ”

“Do you know what you're having?” John asked, trying to take her mind off the panic which was closing in around her, hoping that her body would kick in and do what it was intended to do. “A little boy or a girl?”

Panting, she adjusted her arching back and sniffed, “A girl. A… _beautiful_ girl—Looks nothing like her father, thank _God_ …”

“Oh dear, sounds like there's a story there,” John smiled, looking up at Sherlock. The detective seemed perplexed by the situation, uncomfortable, unsettled, and pushed miles out of his comfort zone, yet had somehow remained alert for Amelia's sake. “And a name? Have you thought of anything you like?”

“ _No_ ,” she whinged with frustration, “no I… I don’t know. I have a huge list… I have books… without seeing her, _properly_ seeing her, I don’t think I can pick one--” Her breath hitched in her throat and she grunted, crumpling her face up in agony and strain, taken over by the pressure, the instinctive urge to push. “Oh God, _I can’t_!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of _course_ you can,” Sherlock abruptly urged her, tensing his arms as she stiffened and bore down, shaking. He stared at her, mouth agape and forehead furrowed with sympathy, with mimicking focus and strain, keeping her from collapsing to the floor. 

“Good, that was a good one!” John insisted, “I can feel her head a little further down… I can feel her hair! Just a few more _big_ pushes and it'll be all over and you can see your daughter!”

“She has hair?” Amelia whispered, slumped and breathing hard, but smiling. “I… I had hair when… when I was born too. I… I can’t believe my mum isn’t here...” Wiping at her face with unsteady hands, still held up by Sherlock, she wept into her palms. “She’s going to miss it… miss it _all_ and… and I…” 

“Where's your phone?” John asked in a rush, following her shakily pointed hand until he found it, snatched it up, unlocked it and started a video recording. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold it, not whilst he was trying to deliver the baby, so he put it standing up across the aisle, hoping to catch most of the action. “Hi Amelia's mum, you're just in time.”

With the camera set up, Amelia seemed to get another bounce of energy and she strained hard, pushing and pushing and pushing, biting down on her lip until John was sure she was going to make herself bleed. Coaching Amelia into taking breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth within the reprieve - as well as Sherlock, who had started to mimic almost everything she did, almost - John led her into new and dramatic pushes, pushes which sent her legs shaking and her skin shimmering with sweat. One firm push was quickly joined by another, and another, until Amelia was probably the most exhausted she had ever been and would ever be again.

John rubbed her back, taking the respite to check on progress, stunned to find the head already coming to crown, “Baby is close! She's almost here,” he exclaimed and twisted away from the phone so that there was a perfect view as he kept his hand close to her swollen, sore genitals, making sure to hover near her perineum to apply a gentle pressure, recalling something about tearing if none was there. “I need one big, _big_ push with all the welly you have – and then stop when I tell you to. We're going to get the head out and then take a few little puffs of air like this...” He demonstrated a few sharp huffs of breath. “You ready?”

“Christ it _hurts_!” Amelia cried out with a hiss and a full body shiver, nodding rapidly at John, eyes clenched closed and hands now in both of Sherlock’s as he held her up, letting her almost hang from him. There was a moment of stillness as they all waited for the next contraction, as they all gathered their composure, and in that time, Amelia took one of her hands down to feel, to slip in and touch her baby with a bubbling wail of emotion. “Oh my _God_ … oh Christ… _why_ did you have to come on the underground?”

There was a clawing, gasping fumble when she went to push again, and Sherlock took her slick hand back with only a slight curl of his lip, clenching his jaw as he held on and watched her strain, following along with John’s instructions when he reminded her of the breathing. It didn’t take long, only a few excruciating minutes, before the head was successfully out and Amelia could stop, could relax and breathe and touch the head of her baby. It was quite a sight, not one John thought he’d really see this up close and personal, but amazing nonetheless. He made sure the phone was capturing it and shared a look with Sherlock, who was concentrating on Amelia's face and nowhere else, lips a straight, tight, wavering line.

“She's gorgeous,” John sighed, using the edge of the towel to wipe at the baby's face and lower part of her chin, checking to make sure the cord wasn't wrapped around her throat. Thankfully it wasn't, so John let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding on to and peered more closely at the newborn, unable to prevent an absurd bubble of unexpected love, despite only knowing its mother less than an afternoon. “Now, this is the bit we're going to go slow...Take a few more drinks of water, catch your breath, and then we're going to go again when you're ready...”

“Yes… okay,” she replied, taking the offered bottle. “I… I can’t _believe_ this has happened to me…” Giggling breathlessly, Amelia stroked the matted hair on her daughter’s faintly misshapen head, took several deep, steadying breaths, rested her forehead to Sherlock’s shoulder until a contraction hit and pushed down, crying out when the baby twisted in descent. 

It took two more contractions, two more moments of strength and focus, and the baby came out entirely into John’s hands, slippery and bloody and purple, until John wrapped it in a towel and rubbed it down, getting the skin pink, forcing a small bubbling cry. He handed the baby to Amelia quickly, making sure to be mindful of the cord that still connected them, and watched as she wept and clutched at the bundle, sinking down on her knees.

“Welcome to the world,” John said softly, beaming and wobbling, taken aback by the moment. “Sorry that it's not a better setting...” He laughed, mopping up spots of blood and mucus with a towel and turned to Sherlock, finding the man utterly transfixed, his eyes flicking back and forth over the baby's squalling face and bunched up fists. “Sherlock?” He lifted his eyebrows, grin sloping sideways and nudged at him in amusement, interrupting his trance-like state. “Do you have your lock pick stuff? Any scissors or string? - We need to cut the cord and prompt for the afterbirth...”

Evidently overwhelmed by the situation, Sherlock clumsily went through his pockets, taking out some small scissors and a needle and thread, “I… I don’t know if these will cut through an umbilical cord,” he murmured, giving said pulsing cord a glance and following it up, up, up, to where Amelia was snuggling into her daughter. “And I… have nothing for the placenta… stupid of me, really… but it... slipped my mind...”

“It might do the job. Better than nothing. And it's not like you expected to need to cut an umbilical cord. Not an every day occurrence really. Not relevant,” John replied, taking the supplies Sherlock had provided and then sitting back on his knees to wait.

After a minute or two, Amelia asked for them to record a close up of her and the baby and then for photos, lots and lots and lots of photos, beaming and laughing and joking despite her heavy breathing, sweat-covered face and dishevelled hair. The cutting of the cord was also recorded, the phone passed to a silent, still Sherlock, who was only brought back to reality again with a loud click of John’s fingers. Carefully, gently, John tied some string around it, making sure that all was well with the baby before he used the small scissors to snip through the spongy tissue, finding it a lot more difficult than he had expected and leaving the last bit for Amelia herself to cut. It was an odd experience and not one John, nor Sherlock, would be forgetting.

The air around them seemed serene and strangely intimate afterwards, their breathing becoming synchronised with that of the baby as they all sat together, vigilantly watching over her. That soon changed, of course, when there was a loud bang and a security guard entered from the second carriage, eyes bugging from his face as he spotted Amelia's bare waist, which was promptly blocked by Sherlock's flaring open coat. Two paramedics followed him in, rushing through in a blur of high-vis jackets and thudding boots with a bag full of equipment and a cheerful exultation of how well both mum and baby looked.

John felt he had no other option than to follow when they finally got moving again and came to the next stop, felt an obligation to help poor Amelia, now wrapped in blankets, to get onto a stretcher and wheeled away to freedom. He carried her belongings with him, following silently until they were forced to split up and catch a cab to St Thomas' hospital, where Amelia would be taken. Neither Sherlock and John spoke on the way, too pumped full of adrenaline, shock, amazement and bewilderment to really manage a conversation, complete with lengthy, well strung together sentences. The Christmas crowds going by their windows, were thronging through the shops, unaware of the miracle which had happened underneath their very feet. John wondered, for a moment, how many incidents had occurred under his.

The hospital was clean and warm, covered in cheerful decorations and nurses wearing Santa hats and elf ears. John gave Amelia's name at reception, hefting her things and explaining the events that had transpired, and was shown to the maternity suite waiting room until a doctor came out and shook John's hand, congratulating him on a job well done before showing them through to the single person room, where Amelia and her baby were laid on a bed.

“Hello there,” John smiled from the doorway with a half wave, “Just thought we'd follow and pop by, see how you're doing… and we thought we'd wait with you until… well, until your mum came. We didn't want you to be on your own.”

“Yes please,” Amelia said with a large sigh of relief and a fatigued nod, “thank you so much. I don’t… I don’t know how I would have coped without you.” She looked to a stoic Sherlock and smiled at him, gesturing with her finger. “ _Both_ of you. - Please, come in, sit down. I’m glad you came.”

“And I'm glad you're okay...” John breathed, putting down her clothes. “Must admit, I think I fibbed my way through that quite well. My heart was _pounding_ the entire time!”

Amelia let out a gasp in merriment, still smiling, “Don’t say that!” she told him, signalling to the empty chairs nearby for them to drop into. “And it didn’t show. _Really_ it didn’t. Not to me, anyway. You knew all the right things and… _did_ all the right things. - The other doctors and nurses have been singing your praises.” John felt himself glow with pride at her words, but he was just mostly thankful that everyone had ended up healthy and well. "Please, sit down with me."

Slumping down on the chair closest, John tugged Sherlock down with him, manhandling him with a grunt when Sherlock collapsed onto his lap instead of the seat beside him, "No, the _other_ chair, Sherlock," he muttered and threw Amelia an eye roll as he settled in, looking over at the baby in her mothers arms. “She looks cosy.”

“She does,” Amelia laughed quietly, stroking the small rosy face and tucking a wispy lock of auburn hair under the plain, soft looking cap that had been placed on her daughter’s head. “She’s… _perfect_. - A bit dramatic, choosing now of all times, and a tube train of _all places_ , but… yes, she’s _perfect_.”

“She just wanted to be spoiled for Christmas,” John chuckled. “Didn't want to miss out on the presents.”

Amelia hummed, “Oh they’ll be _a lot_ of presents for her. I have a whole wardrobe ready,” she said and then looked over at him, eyes crinkling in fond happiness. “Would you like to hold her? Now she’s not covered in gunk and tethered?”

John hesitated for a second and then nodded, “Yeah… Yeah I'd _love_ that. If you really don't mind?” he asked, yet he was already up on his feet and at the side of the bed, admiring the baby in a sweet plain white onesie. “Gosh, she looks so little.”

He’d not held many babies before, though when her warm weight was placed within his arms, it awoke some ludicrous paternal instinct within him and he hefted the baby up with unexpected ease, fitting her into the crook of his arm and cradling her head. It felt good, holding a life he’d brought into the world, knowing that he was, in some way, forever entangled with her. Perhaps he would be told to her? An amusing story of a doctor and his detective friend with a weird name, being the first to touch her, to see her, to help her into the world inside a dank, dirty, boiling tube carriage. He grinned, finding the thought comforting, if a little ridiculous. 

“I was wondering if you’d… help me name her?” Amelia asked gently, bringing John’s gaze back up. Blushing, Amelia fiddled with the bed sheets and shrugged, waving a hand vaguely in their direction. “Or I take one of your names and put it in hers? A middle name?”

John gaped, glancing from Amelia, to Sherlock, and back again, stunned at the question, “You want one of _our_ names as her middle name? That would… I… oh _wow_ ,” John stammered, blinking at the unexpected tears filling his eyes. “That would be an honour, but you don't have to do that! And I don't know how much our names would work for a little girl.”

“I know I don’t have to, but… I _want_ to,” Amelia told him, looking down with a pinching mouth. “Her father is… well, he’s not around. He’s not a very nice man. Unfortunately I can’t save her from that, she is biologically linked to him, but I… I’d like for her to be connected to good men, _brilliant_ men, men I can tell her about and who make a better example than the one who left her.” Taking a deep inhalation, she nodded and grinned at them. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it will work. But I do know that I want that for her. I want her to know you. Even if just through the story of how she got her name.”

Leaning in, John reached for Amelia's hand and gave it a squeeze, “Then I would be honoured… Sherlock? What about you?” he asked, noticing Sherlock looked lost and small, his hands limply cradled in his lap, eyes widely flitting. “Here… sit up straight and take her. Hold her for a bit.” Ignoring Sherlock's immediate head shake, John stepped over and began moving those limp, long arms, folding them into a decent enough shape to then carefully bring the baby towards. “Now, hold your arms just like that and support her head--”

“ _Oh no_ , no I _can’t_ …” Sherlock told him, jerking back into his chair, staring as John brought her closer. “I’m not… I _don’t_ hold babies. - John. _John, no_ , I can’t! _John_!--” He snapped his mouth closed as the newborn gave a squirming cry at his raised tones and flushed, scowling when John lowered her with a hush, amused at Sherlock’s agitated expression. “John, take her back. John, I _can’t_ …”

“How is it that you work with chemicals and things that can explode in your _face_ without flinching, but one tiny baby makes you _this_ nervous?” John asked with a chuckle, patting Sherlock's arms and making sure he was supporting the babies little bum and legs. “See? She likes you.”

“She has no idea who I am. Can barely see 8 inches away from her face,” Sherlock huffed, though he calmed when John squeezed his shoulder and let him recline so most of the baby’s weight was against his chest. “And this is different. This is a… small… _person_. If I dropped her or she… she—”

“You’re _fine_ ,” Amelia interrupted with a giggle and a tut, her phone suddenly in her hands. “You’re a natural!”

“Yeah. You actually look quite _adorable_ ,” John smiled, giving Sherlock's hair a ruffling fluff and sitting down on the chair beside him. “Hello little one. This is Sherlock. He's very silly, yes. He says he isn't, but he is. He can be the silliest person there is.”

"I am _not_ \--"

Putting his finger into her tiny fist, which she squeezed with all her little might, John hummed, “You gave us quite a scare today, but you're worth it. _Definitely_ worth it.”

The first few simulated camera clicks were met by an annoyed sigh from Sherlock as well as an eye-roll, but Amelia only giggled again and took some more, glancing between them with searching contemplation, “Do both of you… want children? In the future? Maybe?” 

John gave it a few seconds of thought and then hitched a shoulder, giving her a sideways glance and a small smile, "I've not really thought about it--"

"He has," Sherlock snorted.

"I _really_ haven't."

"He wants children," Sherlock told an entertained Amelia, head bowed as he regarded the newborn, eyes roaming over her face. "Two, ideally. Boy and girl. Living together with some bland wife in a boring part of the countryside."

John tilted his head and pursed his lips, " _No_. I never said I wanted that. I don't know _where_ that's come from."

Sherlock scoffed with a fleeting sneer, "Don't have to _say_ it."

"Sherlock," John said with a long, aggravated sigh through his nose, elbow leaning on the armrest, "I'm in my thirties already. I'm a doctor. I follow you around murder scenes, chasing the most dangerous, sadistic, inventive, intelligent serial killers London has to offer. I don't have _time_ to sit and think about children. I don't know if I'll _ever_ have time."

"Even if you do want that and you _do_ have time," Amelia chimed in, gesturing with her hands, "someday down the line. That doesn't mean he'll leave you, Sherlock. It's plain to see. He _adores_ you. Don't you John?" Before John could pick his jaw up from the floor, she sat forward slowly, plumping her pillows and grinning brightly at them, blatantly enamoured with them, with the thought of them. "And you could adopt! Get that little girl and boy. Make a home, but a good one, a fun one, _together_ , here in London!"

John stared, her words spinning around and around in his head at a dizzying speed, "Uh. _What_?"

"Just something to think about," she told him, her hands lifting peacefully. "I shouldn't really have pried. It's your relationship and... I don't know, I just got a little carried away. - You two were so nice together. You'd make good parents, I think. Working together."

"Well, uh, right," John uttered at first, blown away by everything. Astounded with how many people assumed they were together and how dedicated and strong they thought their so-called relationship was. How many people had it been now? When had it started? First people thought they were dating, then they thought they were in a deep, intimate relationship, and now it was so close, so strong, so lasting that the thought of children had been added into the mix? John was almost too tired to argue. " _No_. Amelia, we're not... that is we—"

"Adoption would definitely be a lot more preferable for me," Sherlock abruptly murmured, seeming more at ease with holding the baby now, his lips curled into a tiny, tentative, tender smile. The baby gave a gentle grunt and slowly, with the faintest of snuffles, opened her eyes. "Though I'd want two girls. Twins, if possible. - Mischievous and stubborn and immensely clever." Looking up, Sherlock caught John's dumbfounded gaze and then flicked his attention up with a cock of his head, smile now twisting into a full out smirk. "And blonde, just like their father."

" _What_?"

**Author's Note:**

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